


Same Time Next Moon

by ptw30



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, It's important that you all know that, Keith is a bookshop keeper and assassin, M/M, Medieval bootie call, SHEITH - Freeform, Shiro is a commander, bookshop au, historic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 00:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptw30/pseuds/ptw30
Summary: The Paladins ride through the tiny village of Marmora once a Dark Moon, and after a particularly tough battle, their leader stops by Keith's bookshop.OR the Sheith medieval bootie call fic





	Same Time Next Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lysapadin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysapadin/gifts).



> Special thanks to lysapadin for the prompt, which was, "trope mashup: how would you mash a historical AU and a bookshop AU together to get a sheithy outcome?"
> 
> Ta-dah!

Good King Zarkon’s elite soldiers – the Paladins – rode through the village once every Dark Moon. Keith sometimes stood by the bookshop’s door, marveling at the polished armor and toned shoulders. One soldier in particular, a commander, always managed to steal his attention. Long white bangs, strong cheekbones, sculpted biceps. His kind, handsome face lured Keith toward Coran’s Tavern and fascinated him with a warm smile and shimmering eyes.

As the commander praised his soldiers and headed inside the tavern, Keith returned to the shop. Of course, the commander would partake in the festivities of a hard-fought battle. By the scuffs and dirt and blood covering their tunics and armor, the Paladins appeared to be quite lucky to have survived and looked to celebrate with drinks and most likely, the “fair” maidens and “gentle” men Snarky Ol’ Coran employed. 

Sighing, Keith finished shelving the last of the new acquisitions. The night would be a quiet one as Kolivan and the Blades had joined the soldiers in the last battle and wouldn’t return until the New Moon. Keith would have been among the Marmoran ranks, but with the rumor of the Haggar’s dark magic Druids participating, Kolivan wanted their most skilled medic on the front.

And someone had to mind the shop and with it, the Archives for the Royal House of Galra. 

Pinching out one of the candles, Keith grabbed his cloak as the door chime jingled. 

“We’re closed.” When he turned, the gentle light of the final candle danced across the the patron’s face. 

“Sorry.” The commander swallowed; his jaw clinched in hesitation. “I, uh – I guess I’ll take my leave of you.”

As the commander opened the door, Keith lunged forward on instinct. “Wait! We’re – We’re open, for a commander in Good King Zarkon’s forces, of course.”

“For how long?” The commander stepped closer, and Keith noticed that he’d shed his armor and only wore a skin-tight black undershirt, riding pants, and heavy boots. “My regiment is occupied for the night. Drinking, dancing, merriment.”

“And you’d like me to join you?” 

The commander bit his bottom lip and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not one for large spectacles. I wish my men and women to enjoy themselves, but I’d rather have a more…intimate celebration. And when I saw you following us –”

“You _saw_ me?” If Kolivan ever heard, he’d make Keith complete double training sessions for a full moon’s life. 

The commander shrugged. “I fight alongside men and women who live in the shadows. I’ve learned to embrace their company.”

“Have you now?” Keith braced the counter behind himself and before he lost his nerve, pushed himself up onto it. His courage held as he widened the space between his knees. “Perhaps you’d like to embrace mine?”

The commander stepped closer and dropped his hands to Keith’s worn breeches, his fingers skimming up Keith’s thighs. Only once they reached Keith’s waist and found purchase did he step into Keith’s space. 

A warm tingling overcame Keith, burning his cheeks and lightening his head. This close, he could see the brilliant slate color of the commander’s eyes, how they sparkled with every color. His skin was smooth to the touch when Keith took those glowing cheeks between his hands, the skin sun-kissed and bright. Those bangs fell just right, dusting the bridge of the commander’s nose. He smelled of battle, of sweat and blood, and also of lavender and tea. 

Keith moved first, his hand resting at the base of the commander’s neck and pulling him in for a chaste embrace. It deepened after a moment, the soldier’s hands clenching his tunic at his hips. Keith gasped and broke the kiss when the commander tugged him forward, bringing Keith’s body flush against his own. 

The commander held him there, allowing Keith’s arms to drape across his shoulders and down his upper back, allowing him to feel the smooth cloth and taut muscles. 

The commander laughed, breathless and quiet. “I came to see if you had the book I’ve been searching for.”

Keith lifted up his hand, fingers brushing back the commander’s long bangs. “Do you want me to stop and check?”

To his utter dismay, the commander replied, _“Lions’ Pride._ It’s a historic account of the first Galtean War between – ”

“—Altea and Daibazaal, before they formed a Coalition against the Druids.” Keith sighed and dropped his head to that chiseled shoulder. _By Honerva._ The commander seriously wanted him to find the book rather than continue? “Yeah, I think we just got it in. I’ll go – ”

“Maybe later.” The commander’s hands remained fisted in this tunic’s sides. “I don’t plan on reading tonight – well, not anymore, anyway.”

Keith wanted to punch him, especially when the commander’s lips twisted into a challenging grin. “You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.” 

The commander’s eyebrows rose; his eyes practically glowed in the candle’s low light. “Well, that sounds like an achievement. Perhaps I deserve another kiss.”

When the commander loosened one hand to cup Keith’s cheek and draw him forward, Keith pressed his fingers to the commander’s lips. “Hold on. You followed me back here without your armor on, your breeches all but undone, and then wanted to know how long I’d be open – ”

“ – your shop, not – ”

“ – all for a book?”

The commander’s cheeks dusted a light pink, and he glanced away. “Uh, perhaps I may have been hoping to procure more than a book…? I’ve seen you before. By the tavern. It was not the first time the thought of stopping in crossed my mind.”

Keith fought the snort. “Then why haven’t you?”

“The last battle was hard, bloody.” His fingers played with a stray thread of Keith’s tunic. “I was hurt. If not for the quick work of our allies, I’d be dead. And when I _had_ thought I was going to die, I thought of you, how I didn’t even know your name.”

If the commander wasn’t holding him so tightly, Keith would shed his pants right then and there. “Keith. And you?”

“Hm.” That sinister little grin surfaced again, and the commander drew close, so close Keith could feel the heat from his lips. “Don’t want to call me by my title?”

Keith’s arms once more slid up the commander’s shoulders. “That’s not what I want to yell in bed, no.”

That got the commander’s bottom lip trembling. “S-Shiro. It’s Shiro. And you have a bed around here?” 

Keith found it difficult but not impossible to navigate Shiro through the back room of the bookshop and into the living quarters, this lips joins and hands never leaving each other’s bodies. The area wasn’t big – a few rooms for Kolivan, Antok, Thace and Ulaz, that allowed nothing more than a bed and a few personal items. Shiro seemed not to mind, following Keith obediently and leaving a trail of clothes behind. Gloves, boots, tunics. When Keith finally maneuvered Shiro into his room and pushed him back onto the bed, the commander wore nothing more than his underwear and a long glove that covered his right arm up to his bicep. 

Shiro looked up at him with naked affection and once Keith joined him on the bed, wasted no time rolling on top of him. Dusting kisses along his jaw and down his neck, Shiro tensed. His head jerked back at the symbol Keith guessed Shiro found. 

No questions, no demands. Keith glanced up from underneath his long bangs to see Shiro staring at his glowing purple tattoo, the Mark of the Chosen – or as most called it, the Mark of the Cursed. 

The Druids bestowed them upon children they deemed potential magic weavers, many who underwent extreme training. Those who passed were impressed into the Druids’ ranks; those who didn’t were drained until there was nothing left. 

Keith didn’t remember which group he’d been in, but he’d always be grateful to Kolivan and the Blades. They saved him, gave him a new home, and taught him how to live again. Try as he might to leave his past behind, his mark still showed at certain times – during a Dark Moon and in the presence of a Druid or another victim.

Seeing as the Bright Moon shone overhead, there was only one explanation – Shiro had ties to the Druids. 

As Shiro pulled back the glove that clung to his bicep, Keith’s eyes widened as he saw a silver and black cybernetic prosthetic arm. Undoubtedly a weapon. Undoubtedly Druid made, and on his collarbone also glowed the chosen mark. 

Keith reached out without hesitant, fingers twining with Shiro’s cool ones. Shiro dipped his head, a clear telegraph of his moments, and his lips found purchase upon Keith’s neck. The tattoo – for the first time – didn’t seem quite like a brand but more like an invitation, an acceptance, and a shared past. 

Keith awoke the next morning to a heavy weight across his waist and a warm being pressed against his back. It was late, and the Morning Star already graced the sky. Shiro’s face was blissful and content, lips red and used, hair askew in a precious display. Keith decided the bookshop could open late, and if Shiro needed to be back in Good King Zarkon’s presence soon, well – the king was just going to have to wait. 

Keith spent the better part of a varga watching Shiro, mapping the ridges of his skin Keith missed the night before. Wounds sealed with magic – Mamoran magic, no doubt – left scars Keith could see, but Keith knew from first-hand experience, the ones he couldn’t were deeper and at times, still raw. Maybe he could help Shiro heal like Shiro tried to help him last night. 

Keith eventually slipped out from underneath Shiro’s arm, and by the time Shiro stumbled out of bed, hopping as he tugged on his boots and pulled down his tunic, Keith held out for him a sack of food and the book Shiro requested the night before. 

Shiro spied the items, ignored them both, and cradled Keith’s cheeks. Shiro’s lips were warm and soft, and Shiro deepened the embrace until Keith’s toes curled. A loud thump jerked Keith away. He’d dropped the book. 

Shiro smiled knowingly and pulled a few coins from his belt’s compartment. “You’ll be here? In about a New Moon’s time?”

“I might go away on…uh, an excursion. A book excursion…?” When Shiro blinked, he added quickly, “For my uncles, but I’ll come back.”

“Good.” Shiro offered him a quick peck. “I’ll bring you something back from the capital. Maybe some cinnamon snaps?”

Keith stuck out his tongue. “If you come across anything mint or spicy.”

Shiro let out a chuckle. “Marmoran through and through, huh? All right. I’ll see what I can find.” 

Another kiss had Keith leaning toward the door when Shiro started through it. He followed and lingered in the bookshop’s opening, watching as Shiro met the Paladins. He armored up, teased the rest about their obvious hangovers, and then pulled himself into his horse’s saddle. He smiled back at Keith one more time, a giddy fool, and then with a jolt of his heels, sent his horse tearing down through the village’s cobblestone streets and into the countryside. 

Shiro kept to his word, returning before the next Dark Moon. He came alone and with a request for another book, but he first had a more urgent need – getting Keith flat on his bed in record time. Keith’s uncles were gone again, off to another battle at the king’s request – and Shiro followed before the Morning Star burned the sky. 

Keith ate mint and ginger taffy for the following cycle, gazing up at the moon and wondering where Shiro was. 

When Keith returned from a mission with Kolivan, Antok met him in the Blade’s stables, taking care of his beloved horse, Red. Antok leaned against the lower hatch, a haughty smirk upon his face. 

“Out with it,” Keith demanded as he picked Red’s hooves. 

“A commander of the king’s armed forces stopped by the shop and asked for you –”

“So?”

“ – twice.”

Keith hoped his long bangs covered his flushed cheeks. “Look, whatever he said – ”

“He left these.” Antok placed a set of riding gloves upon the doorway. Even from inside the stable, Keith could tell they were carefully made by a designer, probably from the capital. 

Keith wondered if the ground could open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole. 

Antok straightened with a grunt. “He does not deserve you, but that is not the issue.”

“Then what is?” 

Antok sighed. “You cannot have him, Keith. He is a commander, but he is also so much more.”

“I’m not courting him, Antok.” His shoulder jerked; his nerves prickled. “He came into the shop looking for me.”

“Be that as it may, he cannot offer you more than what you have now. Warm nights, perhaps. Affection, no doubt, but that is all it will ever be. His destiny is far greater than Marmora.”

Keith remained silent, lost in his thoughts, and didn’t understand until three moon cycles – and two visits with Shiro – later. Kolivan called him away from Marmora for a mission with the Blades. Like most missions, Kolivan went ahead to speak with the commander and returned with battle strategies. The Blades’ mission was simple. They were to infiltrate the outer wall of the castle, cut down the parameter guards, and make an entrance for the larger forces.

Keith took out the scouts on the barbicans quick enough and hurried to the gatehouse. The guards never saw him, and he opened the entryway just as the commander’s forces reached the bridge. 

_Shiro’s_ forces. 

Shiro looked up from his horse and saluted before digging his heels into the horse’s flanks and tearing off into the bailey. 

The battle was brutal. Blood splashed across the stone and pooled upon the once green grass. Keith sliced down the archers when they reached the towers, and every so often, Keith glimpsed Shiro, finding him in the middle of the chaos. Shiro worked with a close-knit group of fighters – a short axe-carrying warrior, a broadsword’s man, a mace-thrower, and a lithe archer. Shiro himself used a double-edged longsword and cut down warriors with precision.

The team covered each other in a battle formation that reminded Keith of the Blades’, watching each other backs and attacking in practiced strategies. Though Shiro’s team didn’t know they had back up, Keith predicted their movements and took out any long-distance attackers, helping the team gain entrance into the keep. 

Keith followed and climbed the Great Hall’s wall. Swinging inside through a high window, he found a perch on wooden crossbeams and surveyed the room’s layout. A large stone hearth spread across the left side of the room, cold and charred, while a large entertaining table stretched the length of the room. Before the table stood a looming figure dressed in violet and black garb with elbow-length leather gloves. Glowing purple lightning danced across his fingertips. 

Macidus. 

The Druid had traded his pointed mask for a round one with horns, but Keith remembered that stance, remembered the glowing purple eyes in his worst nightmares. His screams died in his throat. He rose from his crouch and clutched his dagger, ready to plunge it into Macidus’ chest when glowing purple fire sliced through the thick wooden door. The lithe archer led the charge, not Shiro, to Keith’s surprise, and she fired arrow after arrow at the Druid. Macidus began to pop in and out of the reality, but the broadsword’s man parried its first attack while the axe-wielder drew blood. 

(Keith didn’t know the Druids _could_ bleed.)

The mace-thrower landed a solid hit, and then Shiro went to deliver the final blow – only for the Druid to disappear once more. Macidus’ laughter echoed from every corner and every shadow, and Keith closed his eyes to focus like Kolivan taught him. 

In the darkness behind his eyes, Keith saw Macidus’ outline dance about the team before stopping behind Shiro and raising its claws. Keith reacted on instinct, flinging his blade. A loud grunt told him the dagger hit its mark, Macidus’ shoulder just over Shiro’s. By the time Keith opened his eyes, Shiro had already buried his glowing fist in Macidus’ chest. 

The Druid’s body sunk to the ground and evaporated in a cloud of sparkling black smoke. 

Keith dropped to a crouch before the team, just in time for Shiro’s shoulders to slump and the broadsword’s man to snort. “Where have you been hiding, huh? Could’ve used you earlier.”

Keith stopped short of telling the broadsword’s man the Paladins might not have made it to the keep without his help, but before he replied, Shiro whipped toward the lithe archer. “Allura, do you feel the others? Are we too late?”

He sounded urgent, voice gutted and emotional in a way Keith had never heard before. 

The archer – Allura – closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, they glowed a vibrant sky blue. “They live. This way.”

When she walked out of the room, the mace-thrower followed but whispered to the axe-wielder, “Is it me, or is that still creepy?”

“Hey, be happy she’s on our side.”

“As opposed to what? Being unhappy that she’s on our side?”

The broadsword’s man came up behind them and draped the arms over their shoulders. “Guys, not to – y’know, totally embarrass you, but she can hear you.”

The axe-wielder snorted. “No, she can’t.”

“Yes, I can!” 

The axe-wielder hurried out of the hall and after Allura. “I totally said happy! We’re happy to have you on our side!”

Once they were alone, Keith saw the tension about Shiro’s shoulders, the sweat and blood splattered across his shoulders and chest. Shiro let out a tiny sigh that sent shivers through his body, and Keith released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. When Shiro turned toward Keith, his smile strained and tired, but still beautiful. 

“Thank you. You saved us, saved me.”

Keith wasn’t sure about that, but he inclined his head nonetheless. 

“Come on. Let’s go see if everyone’s all right.”

Keith followed Shiro down the long hallways, past the fallen soldiers, and into the bowels of the castle. They eventually reached a darkened corridor where only green-fire torches lit the way. Keith’s stomach sank. The sickening sweet taste of quintessence washed over his tongue, and as he came to the dungeon’s entrance, he swallowed back the bile that burned his throat. 

The Druids continued their work. Even after Kolivan and the Blade of Marmora freed him and others from Haggar’s wrath, the Druids continued Haggar’s work. 

Kolivan and Antok rose from the children they’d freed from those damned restrains and horrible contraptions, ready to come to his side. But Keith couldn’t see past the tunnel vision, couldn’t even look for Shiro. He only felt his tattoo burning on his skin as he struggled to breathe, as he struggled to survive. 

He couldn’t go back to that. He escaped, and yet somehow – he’d never be free. 

Keith fled. 

Red rode true and swift, through the urban trenches of the city, into the countryside, and finally to the tiny rural village of Marmora. Kolivan found him less than a half a day later – or so Keith thought. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed after he had collapsed in the bookshop’s back corner, away from the windows and hidden by the tall stacks. Even once Kolivan joined him, he sat there for perhaps vargas, maybe quintaints, lost in the nightmares of his past. 

The Paladins rode into town before the birth of a New Moon, and Keith managed to be presentable by then. Bathed and kept, though jumping at shadows, he finally managed to relax when Shiro gathered him in the circle of his arms and held him close. 

All the tension in Keith’s body melted, and Keith cupped Shiro’s cheeks and devoured his lips.

Shiro barely spoke a word that night, and Keith only gasped. But they came alive in each other’s arms, lost in the throes of desire but trapped in a past that would never let them go. 

They remained awake even after coupling, Shiro’s head pillowed on Keith’s chest, his arms wrapped about Keith’s torso. Covered by blankets, they were presentable when Kolivan entered. Keith guessed he should have been embarrassed, but he was too tired and too wrung out to care. 

Kolivan knelt by the bed, wearing the same pitiful expression he did when he saved Keith all those years ago. He placed a hand on Keith’s head and ruffled his long locks before doing the same to Shiro. His large fingers all but dwarfed their crowns. 

“You are safe here. Rest. No harm will come to you.”

They listened, and they slept. 

Shiro didn’t run away this time, back to his duties and a life Keith wished to be a part of. Instead, he lingered in the living area with Keith and his uncles, helped to stock the bookshop, and curled up in Keith’s bed at odd hours like a cat. He read everything and anything in the history section, making his way through the accounts of the Galtean Wars, the supposed origins of the Druids’ magic, and even one fictional account about Good King Zarkon having relations with a Druid. Shiro laughed at certain sections and would read them out loud from his perch on the shop’s counter while Keith went about his business. 

Keith was grateful for the reprieve, grateful that he’d been given this gift, so when Shiro went back to fighting for Good King Zarkon, Keith could imagine what their life together in Marmora could have been like.

As they sat on the top of a hill overlooking the village, the streets aglow with life and the valley dark with night, Shiro folded his fingers with Keith’s. His voice was an intimate whisper. “I don’t want to leave again, but the fight isn’t over. The Druids still have others, like you.” He clenched his metal fist. “Like me. I have to find them.”

“I – I understand,” Keith replied. 

Shiro leaned over, pressing his forehead against Keith’s. His eyes drifted shut. “Keith, if I – if for some reason, I don’t come back, I want you to know. It’s not that I didn’t want to.”

The weight of Keith’s blade was a welcome comfort at the small his back. “Shiro, if for some reason you don’t come back, I’ll find you.”

When Shiro sighed, Keith couldn’t tell if it was resigned or sad, and decided not to care when Shiro drew him back onto the bed of tall grass. 

When the New Moon left, Shiro went with It. 

He returned by the birth of the next one, carrying the book Keith gave him – a history of the Altean royal family and their origins as healers – plus a furry bundle of teal with a cold snout. 

“He’s a wolf,” Shiro announced, like Keith didn’t have eyes of his own. “The Paladins have been calling him Cosmo, but I figured you could name him something else if you’d like.”

The tiny little thing couldn’t wait for Shiro to lift it before leaping into Keith’s arms like it knew it belonged there. From behind the bookshop counter, Antok made a disapproving sound, but Keith ignored him as Cosmo licked his nose and tickled his throat. 

A winter passed, and then another, and Cosmo all but rivaled Shiro’s weight size in Keith’s bed. So much so that the commander grunted and argued with the beast for a spot to sleep when he visited. 

But Keith found himself in Marmora less and less as the commander and the combined forces of Altea and Daibazaal attacked suspected Druid strongholds. Despite the hair on Keith’s neck standing on edge and a fierce trembling wracking his frame, he gathered his dagger and headed where Kolivan ordered. Fortunately – and unfortunately – that usually meant to the Paladins. 

Shiro smiled when Keith joined their team, a lingering grin that never equaled the private expressions Shiro afforded him in Marmora. But Shiro didn’t know it was him, couldn’t guess that the person he left in the bookshop in a rural countryside village of Daibazaal wore a black bodysuit, hood, and mask, could sense the Druids’ magic and lead the commander’s troops to their enemy. Shiro didn’t know that Keith liked joining the Paladins on their missions, especially infiltrations when only the six of them would go. 

Lance – the broadsword’s man – would dramatically huff when Keith joined their team and grunt, “Oh, man. Who invited Dark and Scary again?”

Allura – the elegant archer and heir to the Altean throne – would smile and draw him into a warm hug. “It is good to see you again, my friend. I’m glad you could join us.”

Pidge – the ax-wielder – would fist-bump him, while Hunk – the mace-thrower – handed him a bag of homemade sweets, Keith’s favorite. 

Keith especially enjoyed downtimes with the team. They sat around the campfire, roasting meats and chatting. Sometimes Shiro joined them. Other times he huddled close to the fire and read whatever book Keith had packed for him. 

Though Keith never took off his hood or mask, that didn’t stop the Paladins from seeing him as one of them. The Paladins never asked him to take off his mask. They never asked him to reveal his identity. They never asked him for something he couldn’t give. Instead, they accepted him for whom he was – even though they didn’t know who that was. 

Perhaps life wasn’t good. War was brutal and bloody, and Keith shivered after the worst battles – when they were too late, when they couldn’t save everyone. But in the brief moments of reprieve, in the shadow of Shiro’s smile, Keith was content. 

That changed the day Good King Zarkon died. 

Word echoes through the village of Marmora, whispered to Keith by Romelle as he brought some eggs and bread. “Been ill from some time. Succumbed about a moon’s life ago.”

Keith cared little for politics, but the Blade of Marmora were the official-unofficial archivists of Galran history and the king’s shadow arm. They’d been pledging allegiance to the king for more than five centuries and kept the kingdom’s archives safe, located in a tiny library under the bookshop. 

But just because Kolivan pledged the Blades’ service to Zarkon, didn’t mean he’d do it to the next monarch. And who was to be the new king of Daibazaal? Keith didn’t know much about the royal family – or the king himself, for that matter. Out in the countryside, away from the city and politics, Keith helped run the bookshop, keep the kingdom’s oldest records, and destroy the occasional evil witch as need be. 

Shiro arrived before the New Moon, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Whether from lack of sleep or crying, Keith couldn’t tell, but he flipped the shop’s sign, blew out the candles, and led Shiro into the back. Shiro took up residence on his bed, and Cosmo joined him, resting his head in Shiro’s lap. Keith followed a few moments later, carrying tea and some pastries he’d procured from Marmora’s baker, Sal. 

As Shiro munched and drank, he scratched behind Comso’s ears. “I think of you, all the time. Before a battle, after. When I see a tiny wolf. When I read the latest book. I think about coming back here, about staying in Marmora. Maybe working here or on Romelle’s farm.”

Keith waited, though appreciation seized his heart. His fingers curled in Cosmo’s mane. 

Shiro raised his eyes, and lines framed them. The scar across his nose stood out against his flushed skin, and when he spoke, his voice trembled. “I can’t come back here, Keith.”

Keith dropped Shiro’s gaze, willing the tears away. Shiro’s hand fell on top of his and squeezed.

“My – the king. He didn’t know about the source of the Druids’ magic until his own son was taken. Once he discovered the truth, he promised to free every child harmed and give reparations to the victims.” Shiro’s hand tightened and quivered; his voice sounded thick and wet. “It wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. The king needs to protect his people, and Zarkon failed. But I cannot.”

Keith looked up; Shiro’s face scrunched in anger and pain. “I’m needed in the capital now. To carry on Zarkon’s promise. Come with me.”

Keith’s breath hitched. 

_“Come with me,”_ Shiro said, urgent, pleading. “It will be different. Hard. There will demands and nuances and responsibilities that will make little sense and protocols that will make even less. And you’ll have to see Lance every day. I know that’s a lot to ask, but as my partner, you’ll get –”

“I can’t,” Keith said before he even realized he had, but once he did, the truth settled in his bones. “I’m sorry, but…I _can’t.”_

Kolivan and his uncles saved him from the Druids. They gave him a home and a new purpose, and he couldn’t leave them behind, just as assuredly he couldn’t reveal his identity to Shiro. Marmora had become his home, its people his family. He loved Shiro, and he’d do anything for Shiro – except leave the Blades. 

Shiro threaded his fingers with Keith’s and squeezed. “I-I understand.” 

“Do you have to leave tonight?” Keith asked. 

“I’m not. Be with me?”

Keith reached out and cupped Shiro’s hand in both of his. “Always.”

The night was long and somehow far too short. Keith wiped the tears from Shiro’s flushed cheeks with his thumbs, and when they ran too quickly, he kissed them away. Shiro reached in kind, holding him close and burying his face in Keith’s neck. Hands and hearts joined, Keith had never felt so alive or so alone, like he did in Shiro’s arms that night. 

Keith rode with Shiro to the edge of Marmora, Cosmo on Black’s heels. When Keith slid down Black’s flank, Shiro’s hand trailed down his arm, fingers knotting with Keith’s and refusing to let go. His eyes focused ahead, staring at the Morning Star as it set the horizon on the fire. The meadows’ flowers glowed in the warm rays, swaying in the gentle west wind. 

“When I think of my future, I cannot imagine it without you.”

Keith was too tired, too weary to blush. “I slipped a book into your knapsack. It’s a bit…different from the others I gave you, but I think you’ll like it.”

“It’ll stay by my side.” Shiro’s fingers unfurled and reached for Keith’s cheek before aborting. His hand retreated into a fist and dropped to his side. “When I smell lavender and dust, see the sunrise, open a book – I’ll think of you. I’ll always be thinking of you.”

Shiro’s heels dug into Black’s flanks, and he took off. He never looked back. 

Keith watched Shiro disappear into the thick foliage of the Olkari Forest and dropped his hand to Comso’s head, ruffling the soft fur. “Hm. I guess we should get in before it rains, eh, boy?”

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. 

Less than a week went by before Kolivan announced a coronation date had been set to crown the new king. The Crown Prince sent a request to the Blades, asking to meet before the ceremony, and Kolivan obliged, insisting Keith join him, Antok, Thace, and Ulaz on their trip to the capital. 

Keith fought his own desires to seek Shiro and see how he fared, but they’d said their good-byes. Until Keith figured out a way to make good on his promise, he wouldn’t see Shiro just to leave him again. 

The capital hadn’t changed much since Keith had been there. A festival of chaos with brick buildings, narrow streets, and throngs of people. A looming keep settled just behind the a low wall, not sufficient for protecting but welcoming to the locals who had business with the royal family. 

The Blade of Marmora waited until nightfall to slip over the outer wall, into the bailey and later the keep. They climbed on the outside to reach the Crown Prince’s personal chambers, wanting to arrive unannounced. The heavy violet curtains opened to a sitting area with a few chairs, a long couch, and a low table, filled with various drinks and snacks. Keith barely held in a gasp as occupants shot to their feet and pulled their weapons on the Blades. They remained on alert even after they saw Keith. 

“Hey, your highness,” Lance called. “You have Dark and Scary company.”

Keith struggled to keep from shouting as Shiro entered the room, dressed in an impeccable black tunic with purple threading over his usually black riding breaches. He wore no weapons or a crown of any kind but rather a nervous expression. 

“Stand down,” he addressed the Paladins before turning to the Blades and offering a half-bow. “Thank you for coming. From my father, I learned you have supported the monarchy of Daibazaal as archivists and assassins for more than five hundred years. I believe you know our history better than anyone, and I find that necessary. The people should always be the ones who hold the power, not their king.”

Keith could barely breathe. His head spun, but Kolivan simply inclined his head, listening. 

Shiro faltered, looking away before righting himself and meeting Kolivan’s gaze. “We fought alongside each other for longer than four winters. I asked you here today for your blessing, your continued loyalty, and if you feel I deserve neither – ” He dropped to one knee, then the other, head bowing. “ – your swift and true sword.”

Keith struggled to make sense of it all. His one-time lover was the Crown Prince of Daibazaal, and he relied upon the Blade of Marmora to deem him worthy to ascend to the throne? 

Kolivan stepped forward and never moved for his blade, instead reaching out a hand to Shiro. It took Shiro a moment to register it, and then he accepted the help to regain his footing. 

Kolivan held Shiro by the shoulders, surveying him, and then pressed his lips to Shiro’s forehead. A blessing, a comfort, a grace. 

When he turned to leave, Shiro shouted, “Wait! I, I have one more request.” And then his eyes set on Keith. “A member of your team has worked with the Paladins and me many times before. I’d like him to stay in the capital, if possible. As our official archivist and one of the kingdom’s sworn protectors. Is that possible?”

Keith’s shoulders slumped. He’d need to say no to Shiro twice? He didn’t know if he could do that. Once had left him feeling like he’d ripped his own heart out of his chest. 

When Keith blinked, Kolivan appeared in front of him. Keith craned his neck to see Kolivan’s masked face, and perhaps he imagined it sad yet resigned. A single breath left him as Kolivan cradled his cheeks through the mask and hood. 

“The decision is yours to make,” he said, magic weaving his tone sharp, “but I long believed you too bright to remain in the shadows. If this is to be your destiny, then embrace it. Cherish it. And enjoy it.”

A hand dropped to his head and Antok added, “And leave it often to visit us.”

Keith’s heart thundered in his chest. His gut tingled, and despite Keith’s apprehension, the Blade seemed to know what he’d choose. Thace pulled him into a hug, and Ulaz wished him well. Kolivan’s embrace lasted the longest, and a whispered confession were the last words spoken between them. 

Kolivan turned back to Shiro with a promise to oversee the coronation in the morning and then quit the room, leaving the curtain swinging behind him. 

“So Dark and Scary is staying permanently?” Lance asked with an exaggerated eye-roll, though a smile lingered upon his lips. “Yay…”

Keith deactivated his mask and then pushed back his hood, raising his eyes to meet Shiro’s shaken gaze. 

“Keith…?” Shiro murmured, soft like a prayer, and then he rushed forward. Keith met him halfway, arms wrapping about Shiro’s neck to bring him close, Shiro’s hands clinging to the back of his jumpsuit. 

Shiro breathed wet and desperate against his neck. With tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, Keith pulled back just far enough to cup Shiro’s cheeks and hold him close. 

“Prince? You’re a _prince,_ Shiro?”

Shiro offered a sheepish smile. “ _Crown_ prince, actually. And tomorrow, king.”

“And you asked me to come with you to what? Categorize your bookshelf?”

“The title is King Consort, and hey. You’ve been doing a bit more than you told me.”

Keith met Shiro’s narrowed eyes and condemning glower with his own challenging stare. Shiro broke first, hands running up and down Keith’s back in soothing trails. “No more secrets between us. I want to tell you everything, and I want to hear everything from you. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

“Did you read the book I gave you?”

Shiro’s hands stilled, and his voice was hesitant when he spoke. “No, but I will get to it eventually—”

“Now, Shiro. Read it now. Where is it?”

Shiro eyed Keith suspiciously and then dismissed the Paladins before leading Keith into his study. True to his promise, Shiro kept the book near him, right upon his desk along with a few stray mint taffies. Keith popped one in his mouth as Shiro grabbed the book – a love story set in the First Galtean War – and began to flip through the pages. 

“I’m not sure why you think I should be reading when we could be doing so many…other…things…”

Shiro stopped on the third page in, finding the note that Keith left him. 

_Shiro, if for some reason you don’t come back, I’ll find you._

Shiro looked up at Keith with tears in his eyes. “You found me.”

Keith straddled his lap, gloved hands cradling Shiro’s flushed cheeks. He wiped away the tears. “I did. So…do you have a bed around here?” 

_The End_


End file.
